


Key of Liberation

by Mx_Dragon



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Begging, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Reality Bending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mx_Dragon/pseuds/Mx_Dragon
Summary: "Give up your thoughts, your smallest desire…your foolish, petty pride. Give up everything, and God will see. She will provide.”(Originally published God-knows-when as "Small Key" on Y!Gallery under the name screamer1234.)
Relationships: Walter Sullivan/Henry Townshend
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	Key of Liberation

Henry pulled himself out of the hole into his laundry room, dully noting the bomb of blood that had exploded from his dryer while he was gone. If it’d been a week ago, he might have been frightened. Now he was just grateful it didn’t cry or light on fire or try to talk to him. He splashed water on his face in the kitchen sink, gave a perfunctory glance through the hole in his living room wall; nothing had changed. That creepy, _creepy_ rabbit was still staring at him. He opened the trunk in his living room and put away the two packets of revolver bullets he’d found, careful to skirt his manically ticking clock. He grumbled to himself; no Saint Medallions left, and only two Holy Candles. Shit.

He ran his fingers through his hair in a brief gesture of annoyance (not _scared,_ of course not, no) and straightened up. When he turned around again, Walter was leaning against the wall that divided his kitchen and hallway, hands in his pockets. Just…watching.

Henry’s eyes went huge, but he managed to silence any undignified squeak he might have made. He could not, however, still the slight tremor in his voice. “H-how did you get in here?”

“I don’t think that’s important,” Walter replied. His tone was almost lazy, and he bore the expression of the only person in on a truly spectacular practical joke.

Lately there was always a hot, dull pain brooding behind Henry’s eyes, and it was starting to stir itself at the mere drawl of Walter’s voice. That should have been warning enough. “Not…not important? But the windows don’t open. Or the doors. It doesn’t—”

“It makes perfect sense, Henry. You think you’re the only one who can use the holes? Who do you think made them?” Walter’s hand moved in his pocket and Henry flinched. But it wasn’t the pistol he’d expected; it was a single, evil-looking key, dangling from his fingers by an old-fashioned metal ring. Like a warden’s.

The confusion must have showed on his face, because Walter smiled his eerie smile and elaborated. “You want to get out. Is that right?”

Henry stared at him. When he could speak again he said, “You’re just…letting me go? After all that, all that running, and horrible monsters, and forcing me to watch people die—were you just _playing_ with me? What—”

Walter laughed. It was a throaty, genuinely amused sound that went on for just a little too long. “Oh, no, no, you misunderstand. I’m sorry. I must have been unclear. I’m not letting you _go_ ; I’m just letting you _out_. It’s almost time, after all. Almost the end…” He glanced towards the shackled door, then back. “I thought I’d reward you. With a little lesson, you could say.” He held up the keyring on one finger in an obvious taunt. “So. Do you want this? Well…come get it, then.”

Henry was frozen. _He can’t be serious. He’s just fucking with me,_ he thought.

_But if he’s not…_

_He said he wasn’t letting you go. Does he have to spell it out? He’s still going to_ kill _you!_

_He hasn’t done it yet. You’ve still got time, and who knows, if you get out of this room you could find a way out, find a way to stop him—_

_Just how fucking stupid are you?_

Henry gnawed on his lip, eyes darting between the key and Walter’s patient green eyes.

Then he lunged forward.

It was a spasm of idiotic hopefulness, the sum of all the exhaustion and despair that had for so long been settling on his shoulders like lead dust. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so desperate. That hopefulness never should have existed, and it was quickly snuffed out when Walter surged up like a snake uncoiling, caught him by his shoulders, and slammed him into the adjacent wall.

 _Scared shitless_ did not begin to describe Henry’s state of mind. The hot agony in his head sent taloned fingers down his spine, flooding his chest and gripping his guts. Walter’s left hand moved slowly up to his neck; his right settled on his hip. The keyring had slid down around Walter’s wrist.

“How could you think I’d ever let you go, Henry?” Walter asked quietly. “You obviously don’t understand how important you are to me. To what I’m trying to do.” He squeezed gently and Henry couldn’t hold back the whimper that bubbled from his throat.

He thrashed, eyes closed tight, hoping he didn’t know what—he’d land a kick on the bastard, he’d break his grip? But Walter just shifted his weight sharply and mashed Henry’s larynx into his trachea. His body went stiff with pain. Walter took the opportunity to press his knee up into Henry’s groin hard enough to make him grunt; the sound was labored, airless.

After a minute that yawned like an impossible hole, Walter eased his weight back from Henry’s throat and spoke above his furious coughing. “God has such a wonderful destiny for you…why are you fighting it? Don’t you want to die like this?”

Henry had barely gotten his breath back when the knee shifted. His eyes flew open. He stammered weakly, “N-no, God, don’t…”

But the Conjurer only stared, mouth slightly curved in an expression that couldn’t be called a smile. Those eyes sought his—wouldn’t let them shut again, wouldn’t let him look away, slowly draining his headache, leaving only the heat crawling under his skin. He wanted the torment back. He could handle that awful, murderous pain in his head; he couldn’t handle feeling so warm, so tense, so…

Walter’s knee shifted again and he gasped before he could stop himself. _So empty._

“Don’t worry, Henry. My lesson’s not hard; even children understand. It’s the first thing we learned.” The calloused hand on his hip crept upward, under his shirt, caressing his ribs. “The only thing, really.”

The air was getting heavier around him, he could feel it; the heat clutching his guts only grew, his flesh prickled and ached and _fuck_ , this wasn’t fair, the son of a bitch was _cheating_. He shivered when rough, leisurely fingertips passed over his nipple and resisted the urge to squirm on Walter’s knee. No way would he want those blood-filthy hands on him. No way would he want that warm, solid thigh sliding between his legs just a little too slow. Henry was shaking with the effort it took not to buck. Not to moan. Not to beg—wasn’t him, wasn’t his fault! It was all those bright, insane eyes, bending the world back on itself, eager for the strain as much as the snap.

Then a warm, wet tongue rasped over the shell of his ear. His legs gave out and a choked moan rose from his chest, hands fisting vainly in the material of Walter’s coat. His hips jerked once, against his will, and again when Walter closed his lips over the ear to scrape gently with his teeth.

The pressure on his groin suddenly disappeared. The fingers on his chest slid down and Walter squeezed his erection through his jeans, dragging his hand in long, slow pumps that left Henry panting and yes, god damn it, _whining_. He’d never been so hard in his life, never ached so badly, never wanted anything more. But the red shreds left of his pride wouldn’t let him say anything more than, “Walter, I…I, ngh, _God_ …”

Walter’s hand sped up a fraction and Henry’s head fell back. Dimly, Henry realized that his other hand had left his neck, then gasped when it pressed hard behind his balls. Before he could catch his breath those fingers crooked to stab the knot inside him through flesh and denim, rolled hard, more, _again_ , flicking bright white sparks of pleasure up his spine, and oh God he’d done this to himself but it’d never been like _this_. The noise that came from his mouth was more animal than human.

Wet lips grazed his ear. “What do we say?” Walter lilted.

And it was _that_ , of all things. It was Walter’s hot breath in his ear and the obvious grin in his voice that dragged Henry into delirium.

“P…please!” he choked. There was a barely audible intake of breath beside his ear and Henry barreled on, seized with terror that Walter might kill him right there, might bring him even lower, might _stop_. “Please, make me come! I give up! I don’t want to fight anymore, just do it to me—”

Walter gave a soft murmur of approval, unzipped Henry’s jeans, and began stroking hard. It only took a few rapid pumps until Henry buried his head in the crook of Walter’s neck and shuddered violently.

Walter wiped his fingers almost fastidiously on his filthy blue coat, then took Henry’s hands in his own and pried them away from his sleeves. Henry looked up, still panting slightly, but did not meet his eyes. If he had, he might have seen Walter smiling. That same, same smile.

“Good, Henry. This is the way to Heaven. You must humble yourself; you must _despair_. For despair is the giver of wisdom. Give up your thoughts, your smallest desire…your foolish, petty pride. Give up everything, and God will see. She will provide.” Walter turned over Henry’s right hand, pressed the keyring into his palm, and gently closed his fingers around it. Then he kissed Henry on the forehead, with a soft, strange sort of affection.

And he was gone; half of Henry's dazed mind thought it saw him walk through the closed door, like the ghost he so rarely seemed to be. The other half saw him simply disappear.

Henry looked down at the key, then up at the shackled door. He wasn't so sure he wanted to go out anymore.


End file.
